My Life
by freyiejj
Summary: About a girl called Daisy who struggles to fit in at school
1. Intro

Hi. My name is Daisy, but friends can call me Day. I hate my life, because everyone assumes I am the same as them. I am not. I might look it, and sound like it, but I am not. In my mind I am different. And my family knows that. My dad left when I was 9 months. He said he couldn't take living there anymore. We never saw him again. My brother goes to a boarding school. He only comes back in the holidays. But I don't even see him then. My sister left for University three years ago. Never seen her since. The only one I do see properly is my mum. But she…avoids me. Like I have a disease. It hurts. When I look at her, I see shame. Deep, dark shame. Shame that burns right through to your soul and eats at your thoughts, so that shame is all you hear. I don't mind being different, but I wish they wouldn't treat it like it was bad. It's just the way I am. And I wish I wasn't.

Right now I am staring at my diary. Yes, I had one. Is that weird? I don't know. Anyway, it hurts to read it. I can still see where the ink is smudged from my tears. I might as well say what it says. It won't make a difference.

_First day of school. It started out fine. It ended being fine with one question._

"_Can you describe yourself, Daisy?"_

_So I did. I said I liked Black. I said Death interested me. I liked to hang out in graveyards. Then I said I liked the stars, and the moon, because they are lonely, like me, and I can relate to them. I said I was always by myself. But I stopped there. Because everyone was staring. Like I was a freak, like I had a disease. Like I was Death. _

Do you see now? I am no way near normal. One thing that confuses people is why I call myself Day if I like night. It is because I prefer that to Daisy. Simple answer, really. On the rare occasions that my mum does say anything to me, it is that I should become a Goth. And this is how those conversations go;

_Mum- You should be a Goth._

_Me- But Goths are creepy!_

_Mum- Don't be mean to them._

_Me- You're always mean to me!_

_Mum- How?_

_Me- You ignore me._

_Silence…_

_Mum-What about an Emo?_

_Me- NO!_

_Mum- Why?_

_Me- I don't want to be a Goth or an Emo. EVER! I like being ME. Don't you get that?_

_Silence…_

_Me- I'm leaving!_

It annoys me when she doesn't get it. Time over time she asks me that question and I constantly say no. However, there is another reason why I don't want to be a Goth or an Emo. Because when they walk down a street, say, then everyone stares at them, like they're an outsider, and that they don't belong. I want to look normal, so no-one will stare at me. I hate staring. It gets to me. You know when people say that they get a funny feeling when people stare at them. Well, I get that too, but worse. What makes that worse is that I'm shy, and I have a constant feeling that everyone is always judging me. I know that it's silly, but I can't help it. I can't help being me.


	2. Truth

I found out why my dad left. And, admittedly, I didn't find the right way.

My mum had gone to the supermarket, so I was rummaging around her room. And found a book. More specifically, a diary. I flipped through it, not looking for anything in particular, when a certain date caught my attention. 4th March, 2002. The date of my gran's funeral. I was there, but as I was only 8 ½ months old, I don't remember it. But my mum wrote down in detail what happened that day. And a particular paragraph stood out.

_That is when it happened. As they were bringing out my poor mother's coffin, my little baby, Daisy, started to laugh. A happy gleeful laugh. She was stretching her little arms out to the coffin ,and looked so happy it was scary. And then she said her first word. A normal child would have said 'Mama' or 'Dada' but Daisy didn't. She smiled, and then said 'Death'._

I was trying desperately hard not to cry. But I am not sure what from. Whether it was happiness that my mum actually once loved me or sadness because if I hadn't laughed, or said that word, or both even, then life would have been normal. Normal. Something I never got to properly experience.

I carefully slipped the book back into its place, and left the room. The instant I got into mine I flung myself onto my bed and let the tears fall.

"It's not fair," I muttered, then yelled "IT'S NOT FAIR!" I slammed my fist into the pillow, and then hugged it close. "Why? Why do I have to be like this?" I was asking no-one in particular, but asking out loud made me feel better. Pushing myself up, I stared into my mirror. My long blonde hair was all knotty, and my eyes were red from crying. I shook my head, angrily. I hate crying because it always makes me look terrible. The door slammed downstairs. _That means she's back_, I thought. _Great_. Quickly brushing my hair, I grabbed a bag, some money and rushed downstairs.

"Can I go out?" I asked, slightly breathless. My mum gave a small nod, and I raced out before she could change her mind.


	3. Change

I went to the bookstore. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I liked it there. It was quiet, and I could think easily. When I was there, I just wandered around, until a lady came up to me.

"Are you okay, dear?" She asked

"Um…yes," I replied nervously

"Do you need help?"

"Err…no."

"Okay, call if you do!"

What really surprised me there was that she was nice to me. Normally, I was ignored. Anyway, just after that I saw this plain black book, and when I opened it, it was empty. It must be a journal or something, I thought, so with a shrug to myself, I grabbed it and went up to the till. Without saying anything the person behind it scanned the barcode sticker and the price showed up_. £3.99? Wow, that's cheap. Guess they had it for a while_. So I handed over a fiver, and put the journal into my bag.

Then I got an idea. I had been thinking about the sort of conversations me and my mum normally have, you know, about Goths and Emos. I still didn't want to be one, but I could make myself look a bit darker. One problem with that though. I was tanned, naturally, not fake tanned. I guess I could do something about that though. I looked at how much money I had brought. The amount surprised me. Sure, I had been saving the money I got, but £100? I guess I'll have to keep it safe.

First I went to a clothes store, and got several dark outfits. I got two black shorts, just above the knee, two black jeans, one pair ripped, the other more formal, and I got two vest tops, two t-shirts and a hoodie. I also got some sandals and boots. Black of course.

After that I went to a make-up store. I felt a bit nervous going there, but I went anyway. There I got black and purple hair-dye, mascara, and some make-up to make me look pale. I also got some dark eye-shadow and black nail varnish.

Finally I got some jewellery. Not much. Two beady bracelets, several rings and a necklace,

Then I went home. Straight to my room actually. First of all I did my hair. Grabbing a pair of scissors, I carefully trimmed my hair so it was neater. Then I did the hair-dye. As I hadn't wanted to do all my hair black, I thought I could just do a small bit. I did the purple first, doing it as highlights. That was a bit tricky, and the stuff was itchy at the places where it touched my scalp. After that I did black dip-dye. I have seen people with dip-dye hair and thought it looked rather cool. So, after my hair was done, I decided to do my nails. I did have some nail stuff in my room, which I had got as presents and never touched, but as I looked at them now I realised how cool they were. So I got going. I won't say what I did, because that would be boring, right? At the end, they were manicured, painted and had minute jewels (not real) in the middle of each nail. Suddenly I remembered something. I leapt up in a rush, and, carefully, so I won't damage my nails, I looked around my room until I found what I was looking for. Fake tattoos. Yes, a bit weird that I have them, but still, I could use them. I cut one out, wetted it, then held it against my arm until it was done. It looked fine.

After that was the make-up, which was really tricky, as I have never done it before. Let's just say that by the end of it my skin was paler and my eyes looked darker, especially with the mascara. Then I pulled on the new clothes, and as it was a nice day, surprise surprise, I wore the summery clothes. While I was putting on thee jewellery, I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked so different! It was a bit hard for me to believe. In fact, the only thing that looked the same about me was my eyes. I don't think I said what colour they were. Well, they're green. A really nice green.


End file.
